Princess Diaries: Alternate Universe
by AwaitingActivation
Summary: Chapter 3! Young Clarisse is at the ball and fends off her suitors .
1. Chapter 1

**Princess Diaries – Alternate Universe**

**Author's note:** This is a story about an alternate universe where the ever clumsy, giddy, and easy going Queen Amelia of Genovia and her prince consort Nicholas arranges to have a masked ball for their rebellious and worryingly aloof eighteen year old daughter by the name of Clarisse ** (Yep, it's all in reverse – in a twisted sort of way) in the hopes that she will find herself a nice male companion.

**Caution:** Major fluff/some drama

**Disclaimer:** Princess Diaries does not belong to me, and I shall repeat the same to any crazed lawyer hot on my heels.

* * *

><p><strong>Prelude<strong>

"Dear diary, I was surprised to receive a most exquisite gift from my beloved parents today. _Isn't that sweet_!" Queen Amelia exclaimed in sheer delight, smiling broadly at her cinnamon-haired husband who appeared to be deeply engrossed in the morning papers.

"And you said our daughter wouldn't take us seriously. She's obviously more sensitive than you give her credit for." She added, her tone becoming increasingly accusatory.

"Mia?" The prince consort began, eyes never leaving the newspaper.

"Yeah?" She responded eagerly.

"Butter me a toast?"

Mia rolled her eyes, but obliged. She reached for a piece of crisp toast, and was careful not to drop any crumbs on the open pages of the leather bound book before her. Reaching for the butter knife, she continued relentlessly.

"Well, I thought it was a good idea. A teenager can sustain severe emotional damage if she isn't able to find the right avenue to express her inner troubles."

"She's already eighteen, you know."

"Well, I stumbled upon the idea a little late, I'll admit…"

Nicholas raised an eyebrow at her.

"A little?" He asked sarcastically, earning a pout from Mia.

"Well, fine then! Since you're obviously _deplorably_ uninterested in the affairs of your daughter – "

Nicholas laughed lightly, and pulled an affronted Mia into his arms at last. He planted a soft kiss on the top of her chestnut hair.

"Careful! The butter…!" She giggled, snuggling happily against her husband's neck as she struggled to balance the buttered toast in her hand.

"Her Majesty is appeased, I trust?" Nicholas teased, and received a soft contented purr in reply.

However, his expression grew serious when he caught sight of the diary that lay patiently open on the breakfast table.

"We really shouldn't be reading Clarisse's diary, dearest. We meant this as an honest gift, and not a tool to pry into the personal affairs of our daughter."

The queen chewed her bottom lip and pulled away from her consort.

"Do you think I'm a horrible mother?" She asked suddenly.

Nicholas's eyes widened in surprise, and then softened.

"Our daughter's just going through a phase; I'm sure she'll be alright." He consoled.

Mia hesitated. She stared past the crumbly buttered toast that wavered slightly in her hand.

"Yeah, but do you really think I've done the best that I can with her?" The queen persisted.

"Absolutely! Why, you're the most loving, capable, efficient and most importantly – _beautiful_ mother in the land…and I shall challenge any _fool_ who says otherwise!" He declared, with a pompous finish.

It was Mia's turn to raise her eyebrow this time. "I would love to hear the opinion of my mother-in-law on that one, darling. She's arriving next week, isn't she? You'll remind me to broach the subject to her, won't you?" She replied sweetly, patting his cheek that had suddenly grown pale.

"I must say, the content of that diary is looking increasingly attractive." Nicholas observed quickly, pulling the diary closer towards him. "Nice penmanship." He added approvingly.

"Read it out to me?" The queen begged, eager to find out more.

"Wha – _me_?" He gaped in shock.

"Why should I be the only horrible parent in this room?" She grinned roguishly at her harassed looking husband, tugging gently at his earlobe.

"Won't she notice her diary's missing? She's terrifyingly sharp…" Nicholas fretted.

Mia sighed impatiently.

"She's off for her morning lessons. I'll just slip into her room later and return the book from where I found it. She'll never even guess."

Nicholas winced and rubbed his forehead; he seemed engaged in a fierce internal struggle, but finally relented with a troubled sigh.

"Dear diary, I was surprised to receive a most exquisite gift from my beloved parents today." He repeated slowly and reluctantly, ignoring the glowing look on Mia's face.

"I pondered deeply over the possible reasons why my doting parents chose you as a gift for me. I have to admit, I initially assumed it was meant as a funny little joke at my expense – in reference to my childish outburst a few days ago, I am sorry to say. However, I've finally begun to realize how terribly stubborn and selfish I have been lately."

He paused at this point, and pushed the book away.

"Am I the only one feeling terribly _guilty_ about this?" He asked his wife pointedly who had the grace to look appropriately abashed.

"_No_," Mia began slowly, even as she nudged the diary back towards him, "but I'm really concerned about our daughter. I never know what she's thinking because she keeps to herself too much, and the girl absolutely refuses to open up to either you or me."

Her husband sighed, "That's true."

"Look, I know it's despicable, but I have to grab at whatever I can here."

Nicholas shook his head dejectedly, but pressed on to please his wife.

"I feel most awful about it. There I was misconstruing it as yet another of my parents' antics to bend me to their will, when they only had the purest of intentions in mind." The prince consort coughed meaningfully at this point, causing Mia to wince.

"To tell you the truth, the idea of keeping an account of my daily experiences appeals to me the more I think about it. It's quite funny, really. Just a few minutes ago, I had every intention of storing you away in obscurity – but this certainly is a more…interesting alternative. I even suspect that I shall have better material to fill in tomorrow. But it's good night for now."

Mia leaned back in her chair and stretched her arms, satisfied at last.

"Well, that was a little short…but at least my mind's at ease now."

"No wait, there's more – " her husband interrupted distractedly.

"Oh?" The queen leaned forward again quickly, angling her face to read the last sentence on the page.

"PS: Oh and in the case you do forget, this book goes back to the top shelf of my bookcase, _Mother dearest_…"

Both Nicholas and Mia flinched back and traded looks of horror.

"Oh _shoooooot_!"

* * *

><p><strong>TBC<strong>


	2. Chapter 2

**Princess Diaries – Alternate Universe**

**Author's note:** This is a story about an alternate universe where the ever clumsy, giddy, and easy going Queen Amelia of Genovia and her prince consort Nicholas arranges to have a masked ball for their rebellious and worryingly aloof eighteen year old daughter by the name of Clarisse (Yep, it's all in reverse – in a twisted sort of way) in the hopes that she will find herself a nice male companion.

**Caution:** Major fluff/some drama/very little sense

**Disclaimer:** Princess Diaries does not belong to me, and I shall repeat the same to any crazed lawyer hot on my heels.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 2 – A Hug and A Haggle<strong>

"Good evening, Mother." Clarisse greeted the queen, who was lounging comfortably across the chez-long.

Queen Amelia sat up with a start; two thin slices of cucumber jumped off her face and fell miserably into her lap.

"Oh! Oh! I didn't hear you come in, Clara." She smiled nervously, quickly pulling out her earphone plugs that blasted away audibly still.

Clarisse waited silently in front of her mother, her eyes lowered politely.

"I was just, uh, listening to the music selections for the ball we're throwing you next week." Mia smiled, raising her music player for Clarisse to see.

A momentary glint hardened the princess's china blue eyes.

"How interesting." She commented, struggling to keep her tone level.

Clarisse had protested at great length against the "celebratory" ball her parents were throwing in her honour. A ball? Whatever for? Oh I see…it's all about that _terrifically_ nosy minister who voiced his worries of finding me a _suitable_ husband the other day, isn't it? Yes, how thoughtful of him!

The argument took an ugly turn when she then accused her uncompromising mother of being manipulative and domineering, which largely ended with her storming off to her room in silent frustration. Having had her efforts proven futile, Clarisse could only content herself with acting as indifferently as possible about the whole affair.

Queen Amelia failed to notice her daughter's quiet displeasure. Her eyes had softened considerably upon laying them on the slender frame before her. _Such thick lovely hair_, she gushed inwardly. She simply _adored_ the way her daughter's honey golden bangs caught the light and cast a soft angelic glow over her fair skin and delicate features.

Mia sighed regretfully, however, as her eyes travelled to the ends of her daughter's short cropped hair and lamented at the memory of the rich golden curls from a few years before. Clarisse had insisted, _very_ expressively at that, on bobbing her hair – much to the dismay of her parents. The queen had since been denied the enjoyment of savoring the sight of the much admired doll-like curls.

"_But _why_?" She had asked for the umpteenth time of her daughter's bizarre decision, frustrated._

_Clarisse had looked coolly back and simply replied,_

"_Surely you aren't going to deny me even the simple pleasure of selecting my own hairdo, Mother?"_

Mia rolled her eyes at the thought. That was her daughter for you: ever so icy and indifferent – and yet so annoyingly reasonable at the same time. The queen was genuinely concerned. She had been that way ever since the incident with that _boy_…

Dispelling unpleasant memories, Mia straightened up, beamed at her daughter and tapped the cushioned seat beside her invitingly.

The Genovian princess accepted the invitation with surprising obedience.

Watching her daughter seat herself beside her, Mia could not help but admire the elegance and poise with which Clarisse conducted herself. It had taken _her_ years of training alone to resist the urge to slouch in her chair like an overweight caterpillar – something that Nicholas had humorously pointed out one day, earning himself an indignant whack on the arm. Suffice to say, the queen was extremely proud and fond of her only child.

"So anyway, I couldn't decide. Which type of music would you prefer for the ball: bubblegum pop or hard metal? I took all morning to narrow it down to these two choices."

Clarisse could not stop herself from dropping her jaw in time. She knew her mother tended to indulge in improprieties – even in public, much to her chagrin – but this was certainly going too far.

Mia burst into a fit of giggles at her daughter's expression.

"Relax! I was just kidding around with you. You're always so _serious_!"

Clarisse returned a humorless, but polite laugh, privately wishing she was back in the comfort of her own suite. She felt the desperate need to roll her eyes at…_something_.

Mia sighed, finally sensing the hostility.

"Clara, love, do you really hate the idea of the ball? Do you not want to go?"

The princess inhaled deeply, and commanded herself with impeccable self-control.

"The queen does what's best for her people and I shall yield to her Majesty's wishes as always."

"Oh don't be such a pain, Clara." Mia chided impatiently. "You are seriously far off the mark if you think this whole affair is just a political device."

"Isn't it the fate of the crown princess to always be at the mercy of politics?" Clarisse enquired seriously, her clear sapphire eyes met Mia full in the face. "I've simply resigned myself to it all."

The queen's heart melted at these words and swept the wide-eyed girl into her arms.

"That is _my_ responsibility to shoulder for the moment, and your father and I will do everything in our hands to protect you from it." She assured gently, tightening her embrace. "But you must believe me when I say this was planned entirely for your benefit. We just wanted you to have some fun…"

Clarisse didn't resist. She made no move to return the hug either, but closed her luminous eyes for fear that her mother would notice the emotion that had overwhelmed them. She would never, ever admit it aloud, but the teenager dearly loved the warmth she felt from nestling in her mother's arms. It was something Clarisse did not allow herself to experience often, and she usually kept a fair, deliberate distance between the two of them to ensure it was the case.

"I shall only stay till eleven – the latest." Clarisse murmured; her eyes were still shut tightly as her mother stroked her hair with loving tenderness.

"Twelve." Mia countered, her voice brimming with undisguised exultance.

Clarisse pulled away and frowned at her mother.

"Eleven-thirty." She said flatly, with a strong note of finality.

Mia raised her eyebrows mockingly.

"But you _must_ wear that lovely pink dress I had tailored for you."

Clarisse's eyes narrowed; that particular offer had already been turned down on numerous occasions. Suddenly feeling very bold – and _very_ ticked off, she responded to her mother's ultimatum with a dangerous smile.

"I completely agree! Oh, while we're at it, why not arrange to have me to jump out of a giant cake and break into a sultry dance for entertainment at the party as well, Mother? You could include my little number in the programme of the invitations!" She suggested with mock enthusiasm.

"Honey…" The queen began.

"Did the dressmaker run out of material when he had it sewn or did you send him the dress measurements of a midget by mistake? It looks terribly degrading, and I most certainly will _not_ wear it anytime or anywhere and particularly _not_ to this silly ball of yours!" She barraged heatedly, breaking strongly through her bounds of self-restraint.

Mia was taken aback by the uncharacteristic outburst, but felt curiously encouraged by such vehemence. After all, she was never one to back down from an outright challenge by her daughter.

"You know, you can be unbearably prudish at times!" She shot back. "There's absolutely nothing wrong with the gown! It's beautiful _and_ current, and only _you_ could make it sound so cheap! What were you expecting? A good old fashioned frock with a petticoat and corset to match?"

"T-that's absolutely ridiculous!" Clarisse sputtered, outraged.

Mia leaned closer to her daughter's face till their noses were almost touching, clearly enjoying herself.

"I rest my case. And you know what? I've half a mind to have your entire closet redone – _to my liking_. You're eighteen now – you've long developed the assets most girls your age would flaunt with pride!" The queen lowered her gaze suggestively, causing an indignant Clarisse to clap a protective hand over her chest.

"_Mother_!"

"Look, let's talk more about the ball, alright?" The queen advised, drawing back from her daughter with a satisfied smirk.

Clarisse hesitated, still trying to catch her breath.

"Actually, I was wondering, Mother, if you'd mind listening to a…little suggestion of mine with regards to the ball."

Mia's brown eyes lit with enthusiasm. She was thoroughly pleased that Clarisse was finally showing interest. "Sure, what is it?"

"I thought: Wouldn't it be interesting if we turned this event into a masked ball instead?" The princess said quickly, looking expectantly at her mother.

"Oh god! Not _more_ coverage!" Queen Amelia wailed in exasperation, burying her face in her hands.

"_What_?" Her daughter cried in disbelief.

"Clara…how on earth are you going to be noticed at the ball if you refuse to even show your face there?"

"It's _supposed_ to make the event fancier, Mother!"

"That's what the dress was for!"

"_Oh_ you're simply _impossible_!"

The two of them glared unyieldingly at each other for a moment, their cheeks slightly flushed.

"Y-your Majesty, your H-highness."

Both Mia and Clarisse looked up to see a maid standing frozen at the entrance of the suite, with a terrified expression plastered on her face. She balanced the fine tea set on a brightly polished silver tray with trembling hands, but still managed a respectful curtsy.

Clarisse snapped her head down immediately and silently berated herself for her ill-mannered display in the maid's presence. Her mother, on the other hand, took it all in stride and smiled easily to the latter.

"Ah, Millie! Just leave it on the table here, please."

Millie carefully placed the tray onto the heavy, teak coffee table and made to pour their tea. Mia, however, waved away the gesture.

"That's alright, Millie dear. I'll handle it from here." She volunteered cheerfully.

Millie looked confused for a moment, but recognized the subtle note of dismissal in the queen's offer.

"Yes, ma'am."

She bobbed once again in a curtsy and exited the suite swiftly and soundlessly.

Neither of them spoke, but the silence was soon interrupted by the warm, reassuring sound of the gurgle of hot water pouring into a teacup.

"Truce?" Mia offered, handing Clarisse her cup of tea.

"No. I'm afraid you owe me still." Her daughter said calmly, accepting the tea with a gracious smile.

"What do you mean?" Mia enquired indulgently, carefully sipping her hot beverage.

"You read my diary, did you not?" Clarisse replied, without even glancing up.

The queen gasped with a start, nearly upsetting the teacup in her hands. She briefly considered an attempt at salvaging the situation with a lie, but decided against such lowly behavior.

"So…what gave it away?" Wincing apologetically, Mia bit her lower lip in apprehension.

Clarisse paused for dramatic effect and allowed herself a sip of tea. Twinkling blue eyes peered over her delicate teacup and watched, amused, as her mother squirmed guiltily in her seat.

"You see, I really kept the diary in the drawer." She admitted finally, barely managing to keep a straight face.

* * *

><p>Back in her room, Clarisse realized as an afterthought, as she brushed her short curls, that she had not lost her self control with her mother…or anyone else for that matter, as she had today in a very long time. The entire experience had felt strangely enjoyable and <em>very<em> liberating. But what on earth had possessed her to behave with such impertinence to her mother?

A familiar warmth prickled her skin suddenly, as if in answer to her question. She sighed. Yes. That had felt very nice, hadn't it?

It certainly brought back fond memories of pleasanter times.

Setting down her brush, Clarisse began humming her way to her elaborate four poster bed. The princess slipped under the soft sheets and smiled peacefully at the ceiling, resting her hands behind her head. Ah well. She had already given her word and may as well be optimistic about the whole thing. After all…her mother had been most obliging and gracious in accepting her request for the masquerade.

* * *

><p><strong>TBC<strong>


	3. Chapter 3

**Princess Diaries – Alternate Universe**

**Author's note:** My brother wrote the little poem that Mabrey says to Clarisse in the beginning. I can't write poetry. Just can't.

**Caution:** Major fluff/some drama/very little sense

**Disclaimer:** Princess Diaries does not belong to me...obviously.

**Chapter 3 - Masked Ball: Part I – The Inconvenient Suitor**

"My dear Clarisse, would you like to hear a poem I wrote for you?"

Clarisse forced a smile; her worst fears for the night were finally realized. Well, she could hardly decline now, could she? No, she was practically locked in the arms of her suitor – whom had wisely waited for her to be ambushed in a dance with him before making his advances. How terribly inconvenient.

"I would _love_ to."

He smiled widely, showing gleaming teeth.

"A gifted rose with favour sought, is but a pledge so poorly wrought, before a bloom arresting thought…" He paused, looking deeply into her eyes for effect.

Clarisse felt her skin crawl.

The princess's lips parted in surprise as his hand suddenly slid below her waist, even as he pressed on to his second verse.

Lower and lower it travelled, relishing everything in its way.

Her eyes glittered dangerously.

"Your – arrrrrgh!" He cried, breaking away from their embrace to tend to his injured foot.

The princess gasped, "Oh, good heavens – my dear Viscount! How clumsy of me!"

Couples about them stopped in mid-dance to stare, even as the orchestra played on.

The viscount dropped on one knee and cupped his hands over his left shoe in vain; he was in visible agony, despite the mask.

"I do so apologise, Viscount Mabrey!" She cried unconvincingly. "I've always found that step of the waltz _particularly_ difficult."

"Ngggh…" The man responded through gritted teeth, amidst the tittering laughter from the onlookers.

The princess looked about her for a moment till she caught sight of a waiter. Beckoning to him with an elegantly raised gloved hand and an expectant smile, the grinning uniformed man nodded his understanding. He laid down his tray on the counter by the side of the ballroom and hurried his way over.

"My lord, please excuse me." The wiry middle aged waiter reached down and helped the wincing viscount to his feet with some difficulty.

Mabrey steadied himself on the waiter, his face flushed. He was thoroughly embarrassed.

"Would you please help Viscount Mabrey to one of our guest suites to recuperate and fetch him a brandy of sorts?" Clarisse requested, placing a concerned hand on the poor man's twitching shoulder. "See that his needs are tended to."

The waiter bowed his head respectfully. "Certainly, your Highness."

"Thank you very much."

She turned away from their retreating backs and finally took notice of the frozen masked faces of the finely dressed nobles about her. Smiling demurely at them, the princess curtsied her exit.

They soon resumed their dance.

* * *

><p>Leaning against the pillar by the corridor and partially hidden in the shadows, Clarisse removed her gem encrusted gold mask with a weary sigh.<p>

"How awfully stuffy." She complained, fanning herself with it.

"Wasn't the mask your idea, though?" A pleasant voice beside her said.

Clarisse jumped to attention.

"Father! I – I didn't see you!"

Without missing a beat, she continued,

"And I was really referring to our guests."

Prince consort Nicholas smiled fondly at his daughter.

"What happened back there in the ballroom? For a moment, I was worried that young Mabrey was proposing." He remarked, amused.

She winced and tightened her grip on the delicate gold mask.

"I-I tripped over his foot…"

Nicholas's eyebrows rose slyly.

"Oh?"

Clarisse lowered her eyelids and murmured before she could stop herself, "…when his hand began to stray."

There was silence. The girl looked up at her father uncertainly and was taken aback by the ferocity of his expression.

"I'll deal with him." Nicholas promised grimly, turning to leave.

Alarmed, she grabbed hold of her father's arm and wrapped a dissuading hand around his clenched fist.

"_Father_! I think he's suffered enough for the night!"

His daughter's startled expression made him stop in his tracks. Slowly unclenching his trembling fist, Nicholas struggled to keep his temper in check.

"You're probably right," he growled, disgruntled. "He'll need some time to recover if he's to appreciate the full extent of my wrath."

"I'm really fine…" She assured, feeling thoroughly relieved. Her father could morph into quite a monster when enraged – it was a side of him that Clarisse was thankful to have only witnessed once before.

Nicholas, on the other hand, was already beginning to regret his decision, but he restrained himself from acting recklessly for fear of causing his daughter further distress.

"On an unrelated note, do you have any idea if we still own a torture chamber?" He enquired innocently.

Clarisse laughed.

"Oh, Father…" She murmured affectionately.

The man forced a smile, despite his anger. He patted her on the head and advised,

"Well, don't let that rat ruin your party, honey. Go ahead and mingle."

Clarisse opened her mouth to protest, but thought the better of it. Her shoulders sagged.

"Alright." She agreed disconsolately, deciding it would be easier just to do so.

* * *

><p>"Gah! That nasty little <em>b<em> – "

"Better?"

"Hm? Oh yes – much." Mabrey leaned back into his chair and grimaced.

He raised his tender foot gingerly, testing to see if the foot rub had really worked a miracle on him.

An electrifying pain shot up his leg and had him gasping for breath; he was forced to drop it back onto the comforting footrest.

"Damn her." He cursed darkly.

"She's quite the spitfire." The young man beside him commented, rising easily to his feet. "More brandy, my lord?"

"Need you ask?" The viscount growled, raising his empty wine glass.

* * *

><p>Clarisse wandered along the dimly lit corridor, haunted by a lingering memory. The encounter with the irksome Mabrey had reminded her of <em>him<em> again.

"_Darling Clarisse, your…uh…your…"_

"_My smile, Rupert. You haven't mentioned my smile." She offered helpfully, propping up her chin with her hands and gazing fondly at him from across the table._

"_Uh…I haven't?" He asked nervously._

"_No," She shook her head slightly, with an amused smile, "I would have remembered, wouldn't I?" _

_Rupert sighed._

"_I told you – I'm no good at poetry."_

_She sulked._

"_Don't I inspire you in the least?" _

_Now she would have hardly called herself a narcissist, but the act of impressing a girl with poetry was…practically protocol! _

_He scratched his nose nervously._

"_Y-you…smile like an angel?" Rupert managed helplessly._

_She rolled her eyes._

"_But you're not even trying!"_

"_I-I'm just no good with words!" The boy explained, flustered._

"_Just tell me how it is you…feel about me…"_

"_Well…" Rupert began, looking uneasily at the girlish smile playing on her soft lips. _

"_Yes…?"_

"_May I kiss you?" He asked impulsively._

* * *

><p>"I-I'll make her regret s-she ever…crossed me." Mabrey slurred, his pallid face reddened from the alcohol.<p>

"My lord?"

"Thinksh too highly of herself…_sh_-_shhhtuuupid_ girl…"

"You've probably had enough." The young man advised gently, attempting to pry the wine glass off Mabrey's grip.

"Made a…a _fool_ out of me! _Me_!" He roared, swiping the wine glass away from the young man's reach; brandy sloshed about him. "'moose honorable noble inna whole o' bloody _Genovia_!"

"My lord…"

Mabrey looked at the apologetic man through bleary eyes.

"G-go keep a wash on her fer me –" He burped and continued, "Make sure sh-shome oth'r _ruddy fool_ doeshn'…c-catch her eye."

"I understand."

"'Mmm c-counting onna you, Joseph."

* * *

><p>"<em>What?" Rupert demanded.<em>

"_Oh, it's nothing." She replied restrainedly, but burst into another fit of giggles which grew distinctly louder at the look of consternation that crossed his face._

"_Perhaps I should leave." He said, with as much dignity as he could muster._

"_Oh come now – don't!" She laughed, tugging at his arm persuasively._

"_I'm sorry, but I am not accustomed to have the girls I kiss respond with such mirth."_

"_Rupert, don't be so prickly –" She paused. "Wait…_What_ was that you just said?" _

"_I said, "I'm sorry, but" –"_

"_I _know_ what you said! How many else were there?"_

"_Else?"_

"_Girls, Rupert, girls!"_

"_Oh." Rupert's eyes went distant for a while, much to her annoyance._

"_Not so many…" He began hesitantly, uncomfortably aware that her eyes were growing flintier by the second. "Actually, it's just been you, Clarisse."_

"_Just me." She repeated blandly, ignoring the tingle she felt when he said her name. _

_He nodded ashamedly._

"_You see, I've never kissed a girl before…"_

"_Then why did you – _oh_, it doesn't matter…"_

_Rupert leaned forward to her; his expression was charmingly serious._

"_Was it really that bad?"He asked worriedly._

_She paused for a moment to consider his question._

"_I really couldn't say." She answered finally, and watched his shoulders slump in dejection._

_She shyly added, "After all, it's very difficult when there's no comparison to speak of in the first place."_

_Rupert's eyes lit up. "You too?"_

_A slight blush coloured her cheeks. _

"_Shall we try again?"_

Blinking back tears, the princess stepped once again into the resplendent grand hall.

* * *

><p>"My lady?" A husky voice called from closely behind her.<p>

The princess rolled her eyes. It had barely been two seconds since she had re-entered the ballroom before it seemed she would be accosted _yet_ again. Flattering as it was, the whole affair was beginning to feel cloying to the extreme. To make matters worse, the blasted mask had not been of help at all tonight, unlike she had originally hoped. Well, she had her mother to thank for that, whom had deviously insisted she wear one more fitting of her status.

_Befitting of my status, my eye. _The princess thought sullenly.

The darned thing was ostentatious to the point of being silly. Moreover, Clarisse could have sworn she saw several of her guests flinch from making the mistake of staring directly at her face under the dazzling chandelier. Oh, her mother had a cruel sense of humour indeed.

Turning around, she came face to face with a dark-haired young man who was just slightly taller than her. Pale blue eyes stared steadily at her through his plain, dark-green mask.

"Can I offer you a drink?" He smiled invitingly, raising one of the crystal champagne glasses he held in his hands.

Clarisse hesitated, taking the chance to size him up. Black suit, black tie, and _lovely_ broad shoulders.

This was promising.

"You look like you're in need of one." The young man added. He spoke elegantly, with the faintest trace of a Spanish lilt.

The princess was quite certain she had never met him before.

Intrigued, Clarisse accepted the glass of champagne, though she did not raise it to her lips. She was beginning to feel a little self-conscious under his intense gaze.

"Such beauty…" The young man breathed suddenly, with feeling.

The young lady felt herself blush, moved by the sincerity in his voice.

"And such fine craftsmanship…" He continued appreciatively.

Her lower lip drooped in confusion.

"Would I be correct to say that this very mask once belonged to Princesse de Leballe Navarre Renaldi?" The young man declared impressively.

"Oh…!" Clarisse choked, as realisation dawned on her at last. Her blush deepened unflatteringly.

"She had quite an active social life, didn't she? Aah…the wild parties she threw...! _Mhm_! Extravagant to a fault, perhaps, but that much is hardly important. Just thinking of what she did for fashion and culture in Genovia then…just sensational! She even held more popularity than her brother the king at one point! Aah…such a _fascinating_ woman indeed – what I would have given to…" He shook his head regretfully.

Princess Clarisse gave the oblivious young man a frosty look.

"You are…well versed in Renaldi history." She commented coldly.

"Well, I am a big fan." His face broke into a grin so infectious that she returned a grudging smile despite herself.

Eying him speculatively, Clarisse decided to give her suitor a chance to redeem himself.

"I don't believe we've been formally introduced?" She offered cordially.

His sudden gasp took her by surprise.

"But, my lady, you are flouting the rules of the masquerade!" He exclaimed, drawing back and feigning horror.

Clarisse stared.

"It is a masked ball, after all. We're supposed to keep our identities a secret." The young man reminded, dropping his voice to a conspiratorial whisper as he tapped his mask with a finger.

She could not help but smile. His boyish enthusiasm and zest appealed to her greatly.

"But that's taking unfair advantage of a lady, sir. Or are you trying to tell me that you still haven't figured out who I am?" She countered slyly.

The man hesitated.

"Very clever, your Highness." He said at last, with a rather theatrical bow. "I noticed the resemblance to your great-grand aunt right away, of course. You have her sapphire eyes."

"Yes, that must have been the most obvious clue." Clarisse answered sardonically, with a raised brow.

"Well…it _is_ your most attractive feature." The young man complimented earnestly. "Incidentally, I haven't poisoned the drink, you know."

"H-hm – ?" Clarisse looked to her untouched champagne with some surprise. "I – you still haven't told me your name."

He flashed a child-like grin.

"There's just no distracting you!" One look at the princess's expression and he decided not to press his luck any further. "If it would please you, your Highness, I am Joseph Rivera – Joe to my friends."

Clarisse nodded, apparently satisfied.

"Well, Mr. Rivera," she began deliberately, "you must be the most obnoxious man I've met tonight."

Joseph smiled ironically, unfazed by her comment.

"And you, my lady, are certainly the spunkiest _I've_ met tonight."

The princess's lips parted in surprise.

"And just what is it you mean by –" Clarisse broke off abruptly; she stared past him with widening eyes, just as the orchestra struck a new chord.

"Your Highness?" The young man prompted, even as he turned his head to view the object of her interest.

Clarisse felt her heart grow still as she watched a tall, well dressed man stalk his way through the crowd. She would recognise that back anywhere.

"Rupert…" She answered in a stricken whisper.

"Rupert?" Joseph repeated, suddenly alert.

Her breathing quickened. _Rupert…i-it's really you!_

"Please…please leave me…" She begged breathlessly, pressing her champagne glass back into Joseph's ready hand.

* * *

><p>- <strong>TBC<strong> -


End file.
